


No Friend Of Mine

by PlushRumps



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Escapism, Implied Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 21:20:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7590856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlushRumps/pseuds/PlushRumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fic in the POV of James Ironwood, and a brief account of his relationship with Qrow. NSFW in parts.<br/>Please mind the tags, can be a little heavy at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Friend Of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, haven't really posted anything in a very long while. I haven't really been active in my old fandoms, and my current ships are p rare so I figured I'd contribute to the slowly growing number of fics.
> 
> This was mainly a drabble slash emotional rant, but managed to shape it into a fic as it went.

Qrow Branwen is no friend of yours. The two of you are polar opposites- his disheveled clothing to your meticulous preen, your precision to his wide, uneven strikes, taking down anything and everything in his path. The two of you, however, aren’t really all that different. You loathe this fact; it makes you shrivel up a little inside, keeps you awake at night- how can somebody as inexperienced, as hasty as _him_ share even the slightest of similarities with you? Despite this, though, you know deep down that you are not all that different. Your care for those close to you, your love for your job, your tenancies to drown out your pains with outside forces- his alcoholism to your escapism, working away mindless, numb days and nights, hoping, _praying_ that something will change.  
  
You go over to his apartment one day while on the way to a mission- a request from Ozpin. Qrow hadn’t checked in for a few days, had no contact with anybody, no movement from his scroll. You rasp on the door and the bronze, rusted over knocker stares you down as your own metal hand hits the rough, hardened wood. The door opens and you notice the paint peeling in the corners, red paint peeling to reveal a stained, aged mahogany, full of imperfections but well-loved over the years. Ruby lets you in and you find yourself in the messiest establishment you’ve ever seen. There’s piles of shoes near the door, clothes strewn about on the backs of couches, unwashed dishes piled high within the sink. You also notice, however, that this doesn’t bother anybody. Ruby and Yang go about their business like the apartment isn’t in shambles; like there isn’t stains sunk deep into carpet, like there isn’t wallpaper peeling in the kitchen corners. You find Qrow asleep on the couch, blackout drunk, shirtless and sprawled across the wide cushions. He stirs after a short while and you pass him some water and painkillers for his hangover, let him get his bearings back before chewing his ear off. On your way out, you take one last look over this apartment, this sorry, sad excuse for a man. His burnt, rusty eyes, lacking the once-youthful vibrance they used to contain. His toned muscles, rippled with scars from years of missions gone wrong- or right, depending. You lock the door behind you.  
  
The mission ends, and you head home. Penny is around- “Salutations!” You have the most meaningful conversation you can muster before leaving for your desk- your safe space, your sanctuary. You’re safe here. You lose yourself in your work- sign this, file that, email so and so. You don’t know what time it Is by the time you finally fall asleep. You can’t feel your limbs, and that’s all that matters.  
  
Months go by, and you and Qrow slowly get closer. He says he’s getting help, seeing someone, and you believe him for once. He seems a new man, a functional human being, even occasionally being fit to partake in missions. You get assigned together once or twice, but nothing ever comes of it- idle conversation, questionable glances exchanged, but nothing more. Until tonight.  
  
You’ve just knocked off from your latest mission- crowd control with the Grimm, the usual- and the two of you are on the way back. At this point, you share idle friendly chatter- you’ve broken through one-another’s false pretenses, through your intricate defense mechanisms and dodging of awkward questions. It comes with the territory of having a work partner, you assume. Idle, almost friendly banter floats between the two of you as you approach the academy once more, a subtle air of challenge lingering between the two of you. You don’t question it. You never do. He goes straight to the staff facilities and you duck back to your office briefly, dropping off your more valuable assets, before making your way down the corridor to the staff bathrooms. You’re in the changing rooms, down to your boxers- you have nothing to hide, not any more, when Qrow comes around the corner, barely clad even in a towel. It hangs loosely around his hips and you try not to stare but you can feel your pupils dilating, your heart pounding against your chest. He attempts to make conversation as he lingers, brushing over his hair and examining himself in the mirror, cleaning and patching up his freshly-acquired scrapes and bruises from the latest mission. You watch him briefly when he isn’t looking and _what are you doing_. Your eyes run over his exposed, glistening skin and you need a cold shower _now_ , hastily going off into one of the shower stalls to both wash and relieve yourself once the other man had left. _Fuck._ You redress and head back to your apartment, doing a brief clean up before collapsing for another restless night into your too-big bed, the sheets tangling around you in a string of nightmares and lost opportunities.  
  
2am. You awaken, bleary eyed, to a harsh tapping at your bedroom window. Five minutes later it still hasn’t stopped and _for fuck’s sake_ , you get up and go to investigate. You leave the safety of your bed and barely-warm blankets to check on the noise and you find none other than Qrow Branwen sitting on your tenth-story windowsill, tapping at your window with an _obnoxiously_ untrimmed fingernail. How he could let himself get into such a state of disrepair, you’ll never know. The window opens with a click and the young man clambers on in, barely blinking an eye at the sheer height, as though he’s done this a million times before. You go to say something but he shooshes you, taking a step closer, into your barely-clad personal space. You ask what he thinks he’s doing and he whispers that he heard you earlier, your pulse increasing rapidly, a flush creeping up the back of your neck, staining your cheeks. An arm ends up slinked around your waist, a hand cupping your jaw, and he locks eyes with you. You nod and the rest of the night becomes a blur, of entangled limbs, cries of pleasure, and hastened, harsh breathing.  
  
When you awaken in the morning, it’s to the smell of freshly-brewed coffee and a still warm indentation on the unoccupied side of the bed. You don a pair of loose shorts and ponder into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. Qrow greets you with a smile and a peck on the cheek and _what exactly happened last night?_ You can’t complain though, this feels… Nice. You get a peck on the cheek and a fresh cup of coffee, and a companion to sit by you as the sun rises.  
  
Time passes, as it always does. Your work partner becomes something more, and for that, you are eternally grateful.  
Qrow Branwen is no friend of yours. He’s so much more, and you’ve never been happier.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and/or criticism are very much welcome!  
> You can find me on Tumblr at instinctiveanarchist if you wanna come chat or anything c:


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